I am in here.
It seems to me that the river knows I am here. I am told that the river is an inanimate object, and that inanimate objects cannot sense your presence. So they won’t be bothered if I assume that they do. The fish beneath me, and the grass and rocks and old cans, live by the … Continue reading the river, near Giverny
night: when the cloud is mistaken for the mountaintop morning: when the mountaintop is mistaken for the cloud day: mountain is mountain, cloud is cloud [July 29, 2006]
end of June grasses fanning the breeze — a motor running in the distance * * * Wish I could capture this sky and open it again in winter [6-30-06]
I listen to his young silence far away next to me as I drive down the wide highway into the purple morning lit by the trail of sparks above us he will never know me when I am young and the stars bend around me
white pebble 